I Give You an 'A Plus'
by noodle-o
Summary: Molly and Shane hook up on the Pink Ride, but memories of certain someone keep pushing their way into Shane's head. Sholly, oneshot. Second person POV. Kind of smut, but kind of... sentimental?


You've done it plenty of times in places more public than the back of a parked semi truck. Bathrooms, alleyways, cars, backrooms of whatever establishment you just so happened to be in. You passively wonder how much she took out of her trust fund to bribe the driver with, but all thoughts are wiped from your mind when she's nibbling on your bottom lip. Your tongue instinctively delves into her mouth, then rubs against hers as you shrug the jacket off your shoulders. You both topple as her own jacket comes off, perhaps drunk off each other, or perhaps in lust. You're pulling her backwards towards the couch. Now seems as good a time as any to initiate her into reciprocating lesbian sex. The last time kind of sucked, though. You got her off, expecting her to at least attempt to return the favor before you were "interrupted", and you can admit she was quite good with her hands. Nobody has really left you quite as breathless since...

You shake the thought from your head. Falling into the couch, you slouch slightly against her when she follows. You don't altogether enjoy being on the bottom, but if you're being honest, you want to do anything for Molly right now. And it really doesn't feel so bad, especially when her hand dives under your jeans, below your Calvin's. Her hand lowers onto your wetness as you gasp slightly at the contact. You half expect her to let out another dorky sentiment, but all thoughts depart from your mind as she massages her fingers against you.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah,"

It's more than good. You're struggling for air as your head swims, arousal pooling and spreading through your stomach and legs. Suddenly, she pulls her hand out and you sit up against her leaning on your elbows, smirking. You know what's coming next. Before you know it, your pants are around your ankles, you're giving out tips, and her tongue is gingerly, softly, agonizingly tracing your clit. She needs to go harder. Threading your fingers through her hair to pull her closer, you can't help remembering _her_. The way you'd thread your fingers through _her_ deep brown hair, the music _she'd_ chosen playing in the background- What was that singer's name, Beny Morè?- Or the way _her_ tongue knew all the right places to press, the way you lost your usual sense of control. The way your guts would quake and just how sated you would be afterwards; pulling _her_ atop you, laying _her_ head against your wildly beating heart. It's almost like you're there again and you unconsciously let out a moan, grabbing the back of Molly's head and pressing her harder against you. Her tongue speeds up, one hand rising up to play with your nipple. You're getting close, not that she's amazing at this or anything. You remember not letting Paige eat you out. Or Cherie. Or most of the girls you've slept with, really. With Paige the wounds were too fresh, the memory of _her_ always bleeding into your minds eye. Nobody did it like _her_. You never let your guard down enough with anyone else. Shaking these thoughts from your head, you force yourself to open your tightly squeezed eyes to see Molly still earnestly lapping, hands tracing your nipple, careening over your bare thighs. You take one hand in yours, squeezing it as you feel electric bolts of release starting to surge through your legs. Her eyes softly open and peer up at you wondering if this is it. You're gonna come, you barely manage to utter, as her ministrations continue while never faltering. You close your eyes as tight as they'll go, seeing stars and gripping the back of her head with your free hand, rolling and thrusting your hips as your orgasm blooms, white hot electricity coursing through your legs and center. A moan you didn't know you had tucked away crescendos into a guttural hum. When it's over, you're sated and spent and boneless, laying back on the couch, pants still around your ankles. She sits beside you and leans her head onto your shoulder, rubbing your chest in slow circles, knowing not to ask or pry or say anything at all. And for that alone, she gets an A plus.


End file.
